While my brother would say Leon is his best friend, I’m sure that Leon and I are closer and spend more time together. Leon shows up at my dorm not just once or twice, but sometimes three times a week to take me out to dinner, worried that I’m not eating a healthy, balanced diet. On those nights, it always feels like he never wants them to end and stretches out our time together, sharing every part of his week with me, and then has me tell him everything about my classes.
I live for those nights, and I’m kind of obsessed with them.
Leon’s face turns serious, the lump between his brows deepening. “Have you ever thought about us, Erika?”
“Thought about us, how?” I act dumb.
“Being together.”
Every day. “Never.” That lie comes easily to me because I’ve been hiding my feelings for him ever since I first saw him. I was only seventeen, but I remember it like it was yesterday.
The moment he skated onto the ice for his first Edmonton Eagle game and winked at me, my heart ignited.
When I turned eighteen, my fixation grew into something I had no control over. Three years later, my obsession persists.
It’s painful.
Awful, really.
Some days it feels like it’s slowly destroying me. It’s cruel, and I pretend it doesn’t matter, but it eats me up inside every minute of every day. Especially when I’m alone in my quietest moments.
I guess Leon is someone I’m meant to feel only in my heart and never be able to touch physically.
“I know you’re lying. You think about me,” Leon states firmly, his chest puffing out with confidence.
“You think I’m lying?”
“I know you are. I know you better than anyone. Even better than your brother.”
Despite his cool façade, the way he’s looking at me—as if his mind is working overtime—tells me he thinks there’s more to us than justfriends. I roll my eyes in feigned indifference. “Sure, you do.”
“I know that you hate it when the food on your plate touches each other. You say sorry even when it’s not your fault. You talk to your car, the stove, your bicycle, and your laptop. You bite the inside of your mouth when you’re deep in thought. You’re obsessed with color coordinating your books on the shelf and alphabetizing your spice rack, and every time you leave your dorm room, you triple-check to make sure it’s locked.”
He’s been keeping watch.
I don’t find it creepy; it’s sweet and makes me feel seen.
Finally, he adds, “And you cry at commercials about poorly treated dogs and Christmas adverts too.”
It’s game over for me if there’s a dog in a Christmas commercial.
“Careful, Leon, I might have to report you to the police for stalking,” I shoot back, my tone laced with sarcasm when in fact I’m doing everything I can not to squeal with delight at his detailed observations.
“You had better lock your door tonight just in case I attempt to break into your dorm then, huh?” He winks before picking up his beer and finishing the last sip.
“I’ll triple-check the lock, don’t you worry.”
“Or maybe you should leave it open.” His lips twitch, caught somewhere between a full-on smile and a smirk, making him look dangerously serious.
“I might just do that,” I call his bluff. My cheeks flush instantly as my nerves make me shift my weight from foot to foot. I feel jittery, like there’s so much nervous energy inside me that needs to be expelled.
“You won’t,” he taunts.
I tease him back with intent, “You sure about that?” The electric attraction between us tonight feels stronger than usual and gives off serious cat-and-mouse vibes.I’ve officially lost my mind.
“Leon, sweetie, I need another drink.” A voice that could cut glass breaks the tension-filled air swirling around us. Cynthia, Leon’s date for the night and a well-known puck bunny, curls her arms around his waist.
Stop touching what’s mine.
